


Light Fingers Through the Dark

by CloudAtlas



Series: Promptathon 2015 [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Control Issues, Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, Red Room, Sirens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-16 19:43:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4637856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudAtlas/pseuds/CloudAtlas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: <i>Natasha is a siren who can compel with her voice and Clint's her Deaf handler</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>His words make her skin crawl – ‘the puppet with the voice of God’ is what he used to call her. He’d tell stories of Metatron, of the Word as Command, conveniently forgetting religion had no place in this, no place in the Russia he was trying to build. But the metaphor was too good for minor inconsistencies.</p>
<p>And this way, he could cast himself as God. People like him don’t like religion unless they get to be God. And God is always in control.</p>
<p>[see notes for content warning]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light Fingers Through the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scribblemyname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/gifts).



> Thank you to **inkvoices** for beta. Title from [Can't Stand Me Now by the Libertines](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CqM11bt9QvI). 
> 
> cw: almost forced suicide.

“Even after all this time, you can’t do it, can you?” Petrovich’s smile is like razorblades. “These Americans; so  _weak_ . Thinking they can fix other people’s mistakes when they can’t even fix their own. But you weren’t a mistake, were you little Natalia?”

Natasha's jaw aches from willing her mouth to open, but she can’t make it. Years of conditioning broken, but this still clings on.

“No,” Petrovich says quietly, the whisper crawling through her ears and wrapping around her heart. “You’re not a mistake at all. Even after all these years, you’re behaving exactly as designed.”

The original plan had been to do this from a distance, so she’d never have to test her limits. But Natasha _always_ tests her limits, and this time Clint hadn’t argued with her.

“My little puppet.”

His words make her skin crawl – ‘the puppet with the voice of God’ is what he used to call her. He’d tell stories of Metatron, of the Word as Command, conveniently forgetting religion had no place in this, no place in the Russia he was trying to build. But the metaphor was too good for minor inconsistencies.

And this way, he could cast himself as God. People like him don’t like religion unless they get to be God. And God is always in control.

She tries to raise her gun and finds that she can’t, old conditioning so strong that her mind rebels against the thought of hurting this man, despite the fact that the thought of hurting him has sometimes been the only thing that has kept her going.

“You won’t hurt me, Natalia,” Petrovich continues with an insufferably satisfied air. “I made sure of that.”

Natasha scowls at him and if looks could kill… but if looks could kill he would have been dead years and years ago.

Petrovich laughs, and with his eyes closed in amusement he isn’t aware of the flicker of movement over his shoulder.

Natasha’s eyes flick to the left and she sees Clint slide into view on cat-feet.

Sometimes people forget that Clint is also a spy; that losing his hearing doesn’t mean he can’t still do his job.

Sometimes people are really stupid.

_Looks like you’re having barrels of fun here_ , he signs and Natasha glares some more, though she is careful to keep it aimed mostly at Petrovich. There’s no sense in alerting him to another presence he’s too stupidly assured isn’t there.

The glare means _shut the fuck up_. But it also means _I can’t do this_.

_You can do this_ , Clint signs. His hands flash in the low light like a dance. _Tell him to fuck himself. That would be hilarious._

Natasha opens her mouth, but Petrovich smirks and she balks again.

“Pathetic,” he says.

_You can do this_ , Clint signs again over Petrovich’s shoulder. _I believe in you_.

“It’s so nice to know we got this right at least,” Petrovich continues. “Your loyalty leaves much to be desired, little Natalia, but your compliance – oh that’s a beautiful thing.”

_I_ – Clint signs.

“Such a beautiful thing.”

_– believe_ –

“And you grew up _so_ nicely, little Natalia.”

_– in you._

“So very – ”

“Shut up,” Natasha forces out and she hears the tell-tale click of a person’s throat locking up in response to her command.

Petrovich’s face shows complete shock as he scrabbles at his throat.

“Stop,” she says, gaining confidence from Clint’s proud expression over Petrovich’s shoulder.

Petrovich freezes.

Natasha has had a lot of practice at speaking without commanding and she wants him to understand something before this is all over.

“I am not your little Natalia,” she says, her voice gathering strength. “I’m not your _anything_. You don’t control me – and I know about control.”

Now it’s Natasha's grin that’s made of razorblades as she holds out her gun, grip first.

“Take it,” she says.

Petrovich reaches out and curls his fingers around it. She can see the fight in his bones and how her words wrap around him in such a way that the fight doesn’t matter. She was built to make people do _anything_ and now it’s who she is; she can’t do anything but live with it, so she’s going to be _better_. Men like Petrovich have no power over her now, replaced instead by dancing fingers and the ability to _choose_.

Movement behind Petrovich catches her eye again and she flicks her gaze over to see Clint say, _How does he look?_

_Scared out of his fucking mind_ , she signs back and Petrovich’s eyes widen further, in confusion and in fear. _Come see_.

Clint moves until he’s beside her, silent in more ways than one.

Natasha can see the question in Petrovich’s eyes and apparently Clint can too, because he signs _I’m deaf asshole,_ derision evident in the flick of his fingers.

The question is replaced with confusion and Natasha spits out, “He says ‘I’m deaf asshole.’”

She grins at him again, harsh and slightly triumphant. “Even the best plans have their flaws, right? He can’t hear me, so I can’t command him. Watch.”

Petrovich locks eyes on Clint and Clint, bless him, holds his gaze without apparent discomfort.

“Raise the gun to your head,” Natasha says and Petrovich watches as Clint does nothing, even as his own hand raises the gun to his temple. Clint smirks and wiggles his fingers at him, just because he can. Clint can be a dick when he wants to be.

Natasha smiles.

“You know what I’m going to do now?” Natasha asks him and Petrovich nods.

There are no rhetorical questions with Natasha.

“Pull the trigger,” she says and he does.

He can’t close his eyes because he’s still watching Clint, but as the hammer clicks down fear makes him wet himself, urine staining the front of his very expensive slacks.

The barrel is empty.

“No, you don’t,” she says conversationally, answering her own question, “because you can’t comprehend any point of view other than your own.”

Clint shifts next to her, folding his arms over his chest, his expression one of aggression and fierce pride.

“I am a better person because of this weak American,” Natasha says contempt colouring her tone as she pulls some cuffs from her belt. “And because you’ll hate it, you will live to see how much better I become. Catch.”

She throws the cuffs and Petrovich catches them, dropping the gun.

“Give me my gun and then cuff yourself.”

When he gives her the gun she makes sure to put a clip in as obviously and deliberately as possible. She’d aim it at him just to make him more terrified, but she knows she wouldn’t be able to hide the tremor in her hands.

“Now sit there until someone comes for you, you piece of shit.”

Natasha makes as dramatic an exit as she can and then leans heavily on the wall just outside the door, shaking so hard she thinks she might shake apart.

Clint lightly touches her shoulder.

_I’m so fucking proud of you_ , he signs.

The hand not carrying her gun fumbles for his wrist, holding on hard enough to leave bruises. Clint doesn’t move though, just stays solid and _there_ as Natasha shakes against him.

_So proud_ , he signs again when she’s calmed enough to pull back and look him in the eye again.

She smiles at him, a small, tired thing, but no less genuine for that.

_Thank you_ , she signs back, her hands shaking slightly still, _for being here_.


End file.
